


Take Shelter

by kelbivdevoe



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Orphans, Platonic Relationships, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelbivdevoe/pseuds/kelbivdevoe
Summary: Moving to Ergastulum had come with it's share of surprises, but taking in two boys from the rain has to be the biggest.





	Take Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Baby Benriya fic! I've wanted to write this for awhile, and some free time finally gave me the chance. It's not fixing their lives, but making them a little more bearable (even for a night) seemed more realistic. 
> 
> This takes place after they've been on their own for about 6 months. I hope you've wanted to hug these little beans as much as I have. Enjoy.

“You’re moving there?”

“You know the murder rate is, like, 80%?”

“That place is crawling with Tags!”

“Sierra’s boyfriend’s brother went there for a bachelor party and saw someone literally take a shit in the _street_.”

Okay, so maybe your friends weren’t that excited about your new job in Ergastulum, but you didn’t let it diminish the fact that you’d managed to get a new job in a new city. The opportunity to actually have a decent paycheque in an apartment you didn’t have to share with 3 other people was too good to pass up.

Had there been some adjustments to make? Sure.

You’d learned pretty quickly not to go out by yourself at night. A quick trip to the corner store for a chocolate bar turned into a mad dash home when you’d heard gunshots and a cacophony of screams from down the street.

The girls working on the various corners near your house were sweet enough once you’d gained enough courage to actually make eye contact. You were still undecided if them asking you to come work at their brothel was an insult or not.

The best part, though, was the apartment you’d lucked into. Apparently, the real estate market wasn’t exactly swinging in the city, so you’d managed to snag a spacious ground level apartment pretty close to the police department. The entrance was a little sketchy, partway into a dark alley, but the interior was too beautiful to pass up.

Six months later, you’d made it home. The walls were painted in warm colors, you had a king sized bed for the first time in your life, and there was even an extra room for guests…that were too terrified to visit.

It was sort of a solitary life, but you didn’t mind. It was finally all yours.

The rain is pounding down from the sky on this particular day, dancing off the pavement, the kind that makes you feel terrible for everyone that has to be outside. You peer out the window and see a familiar tabby cat sitting on your stoop, sheltered from the rain. Humming, you check the fridge for something suitable for it to eat. Settling on some leftover tuna, you carry the bowl to the front door and kneel down, setting it down in front of him and smiling as he starts eating. You rub behind his ear absently, until his head shoots up at the sound of some loud bangs not so far away. The cat darts off into the alley, meal forgotten.

“Little fuckers!”

“I’m going to kill those fucking brats!”

“Get back here!”

Two boys burst from around the corner, running so hard they almost look like a blur. They’re soaked to the bone, both worse for wear. Are they running from those men? They’re just _kids_ …

“ _Hey!_ ” You call suddenly as they whip past you. The blond skids to stop at the sound of a female voice, turning around and looking at you in confusion. The smaller dark haired boy slams into his back, unprepared for the sudden stop.

You hurriedly motion for them to come inside with one hand and are almost knocked down as they rush past you into the house. The blond boy dashes to the window as you close and lock the door, leaning against it as you wonder what the fuck you just did.

“We lost ‘em, Nick!” He grins ruefully over his shoulder at his friend, who lets out a loud sneeze in response, rubbing at his nose with a wet sleeve.

Finally you can get a good look at them, and the sight is even sadder than you imagined. It looks like it’s been a while since either of them had a decent meal; you can count the dark haired boy’s ribs from here. They’re both covered in scratches and bruises and totally soaked to the skin. It’s when you see the dog tags hanging from one of their necks that it really sinks in. Your heart is actually aching.

“Why were they chasing you?” You ask and the blond turns around, revealing a painful looking scar over his left eye. The skin is still a bit pink; it’s probably not that old. You don’t want to think about how he got it.

“They were stupid enough to leave money lying around,” He says simply, wrapping his arms around himself to stave off the chill wracking his body.

So now you’re harbouring thieves.

The brunette is gazing at the pictures on your fridge; some from high school, some more recent, but all good memories. He looks wistful. You wonder if _he’s_ ever had any good memories. Twilights usually don’t.

He sneezes again and some weird maternal instinct you never knew you had takes over.

“Are you okay?” You ask; he’s still engrossed in the pictures and doesn’t respond.

“He can’t hear you,” the blond explains, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie.

Jesus.

You touch the boy’s shoulder lightly and he almost jumps from the contact, tightening his grip on the sword in his hand.

A sword. How hadn’t you noticed that before?

“I just want to check his temperature,” You tell the blond, who takes his hands out of his pockets and signs something to his friend.

The boy would look wary if he didn’t look so tired. When you raise your hand to his forehead, he flinches before you brush his damp hair away from his skin. You want to cry. You can tell he has a fever the second your palm touches his forehead.

“He’s burning up!” You exclaim, about to make a stupid decision. “You can’t go back out in that weather. He could catch pneumonia, or worse.”

The boy frowns at that, rubbing at his scar as he looks from you to his partner.

“Let me dry your clothes, at least. You can have something to eat while you wait.”

“…okay.”

xxx

The dryer is humming quietly from the hallway closet as you watch the boys tear ravenously into the meal you prepared for them.

Nicolas and Wallace.

Those were the names Wallace had given you, at least.

You hadn’t thought about what they were going to wear while their clothes dried, but Nicolas looks pretty comfortable in your Britney Spears t-shirt and sheep covered pyjama pants, rolled up to his ankles. Wallace had balked at wearing ‘girls clothes’; luckily you had a few pieces of clothing belonging to an ex-boyfriend lying around. He looks almost laughably small in them. For criminals, they put up a pretty cute front.

“You didn’t tell us your name,” Wallace says through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. You take a sip of your coffee and tell him.

“That’s pretty,” He says, almost like a reflex, gazing at you as he chews. It feels like a trained response. You’re not sure if either of them fully trust you, but they obviously don’t have a home they want to go back to.

“Thanks.” You nudge the plate of chicken towards Nicolas and he grabs another piece without looking up. He’s having trouble breathing through his stuffed up nose and chewing at the same time, but he isn’t letting it stop him.

“Where are your parents?”

“We’re orphans,” Wallace says without fanfare, and you can’t help but wonder if that scar of his has something to do with it.

“Are you staying with family? An orphanage?” You continue to pry, feeling worse for these kids by the second. Part of you doesn’t necessarily want to hear the answer, because you know it won’t be good.

“Big Mama gave me a room at Pussy.”

You choke on the mouthful of coffee you were about to swallow. It takes a few minutes of coughing and Wallace thwacking you on the back before you can even breathe again.

“Please tell me I hallucinated that,” You wheeze, wiping at your lower lip with the back of your hand.

He shakes his head and goes back to his dinner, nonplussed.

“You’re staying. At a _brothel_ ,” You repeat slowly, unable to wrap your mind around how many kinds of absolutely fucking wrong that sentence is.

“She looks out for me.” He shrugs, and you don’t know whether to be sad or angry. Nicolas has cleaned his plate about three times over and is absently tracing the letters of the alphabet on your tablecloth.

“Can you just…give me a little peace of mind and stay here tonight?” You ask, pressing your fingers against your forehead with a grimace. “The rain isn’t letting up. I have an extra room that you can use.”

Probably another bad idea. Wallace has already basically admitted to petty theft. Leaving them unsupervised while you’re sleeping could mean you wake up to an emptied out apartment. But it wouldn’t be right letting these boys leave right now.

Wallace signs something to Nicolas who nods in response, rubbing sleepily at one eye. He picks up his plate and carries it over to the sink, dark eyes lingering on a container of cookies on the counter. He turns back to Wallace, hands moving quickly.

“We’ll stay. Nick wants to know if he can have a cookie.”

You smile at the dark-haired boy.

“Nick can have _all_ the cookies.”

xxx

Five cookies and a mouthful of cough syrup later, Nicolas is fast asleep on the love seat in your living room, clutching his katana to his chest like a security blanket. His fever has gone down a bit, but he’s still not in good shape. You drape a blanket over him with a small smile. He looks completely innocent when he’s asleep.

Wallace is reading a battered copy of one of your favourite books that he’d spotted on the bookshelf, blue eye quickly scanning the pages. He’s almost halfway through and he’d started less than an hour ago.

“Hey, fast reader,” You comment admiringly, taking a seat across from him on the couch. He looks up and smiles a little, playing absently with the ends of his hair falling over one eye.

“It’s kind of my thing. I’ve always been able to read something really fast and still remember it perfectly.” He pauses. “I remember everything perfectly, really. Faces, names…it’s like my brain is one big filing system.”

“So in 10 years, I won’t just be that lady who let you crash at her place that one time? You’ll remember me?” You tease, pulling your legs underneath you to get more comfortable.

“I’ll remember you,” He repeats your name solemnly and you want to pinch his cheek.

You turn on the television and almost get through one episode of some mindless drama when he closes the book with a snap.

“Finished!” He announces, and you give him a golf clap, careful not to wake Nicolas.

“Take some books with you, if you like,” You offer, gesturing to the bookshelf. “I’ve read them all. It’d be nice to see someone else get some enjoyment from them. Consider it your local library.”

Wallace looks downright touched. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, turning his attention to the television without actually focusing on it.

“I’m gonna head to bed.” You stand, yawning widely. “If you want to stay up and watch a little more TV, you’re welcome to it. The guest room is right next to mine if you get tired.”

You take your time getting ready for bed. Washing your face and brushing your teeth feel like subconscious actions as you piece together the events of the day. Letting two stray boys have a sleepover in your apartment is definitely the strangest thing that’s happened to you since you moved to Ergastulum, and that’s saying something.

The light is on in your bedroom when you emerge from the bathroom, sending a pang of worry through you. You walk over slowly, half-convinced they ran off with your valuables, but instead find Wallace stretched out on your bed.

You laugh a little in relief.

“Did you get lost? Guest room is next door,” You remind him as you walk over to your dresser and begin pinning your hair out of your face.

“Do you wanna fuck?” He asks, sitting up and giving you a seductive look that shouldn’t belong on a 14 year old.

Your head turns so slowly towards him that it should sound like an old door opening.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“I can show you a good time,” He continues, looking at you through his bangs in a way you wish he wouldn’t.

“You’re an ovum.”

“I’m experienced.”

What he said earlier that day comes back to you—Big Mama lets him stay at the brothel—but it hadn’t occurred to you that he’d actually been working there.

“Oh my God,” You breathe. Then the anger kicks in and your brows knit together tightly. “Oh my God!”

He’s the picture of regret. It doesn’t seem like he’s had this kind of reaction from the women he’s had to deal with.

“Wallace, honey…no.” You sigh, leaning over and resting your hands on his shoulders.

His hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt, twisting it around.

“I don’t know how else to thank you,” He admits quietly and whatever’s left of your heart is absolutely shredded.

Your head drops to your chest and you take a deep breath before lifting it and looking at him.

“You can thank me by getting a good night’s sleep,” You tell him gently. “Okay?”

“Okay,” He murmurs, standing. You pat his head as he walks by and he looks back with an apologetic smile.

You don’t sleep much that night.

xxx

  
The house is still when you wake up the next morning, and there’s a brief moment when you’ve forgotten about the night before. You’re about to close your eyes and go back to sleep until you suddenly remember—the boys—and sit up, yanking off the covers. You pad quietly over to the guest room and peer inside.

The bed is empty and the clothes you lent Wallace are crumpled at the edge of the bed. You can’t help but feel disappointed; did they have to leave without saying goodbye?

There’s a quiet noise behind you and, when you turn, there’s Nicolas. He’s sleepily sitting up on the couch, a corduroy pattern pressed into his cheek from the pillow he’d been using. You can tell you’re both thinking the same thing.

Where’s Wallace?

xxx

The scratch of the pencil against paper is the only sound in your kitchen as you finish your breakfast, chewing absently on a piece of toast as you watch Nicolas write his name carefully over and over again.

N-I-C-O-L-A-S B-R-O-W-N.

His letters are squiggly despite his concentration; he must have only learned to write recently. He pauses to take the last piece of bacon from the plate, eating it in one bite before going back to the task at hand. He’s looking much better than the night before.

You smile a little and hold out your hand for the pencil. He hands it over hesitantly and watches as you print your name slowly on the paper under his own. You point to the name, then to yourself. A look of understanding crosses his face, and he takes the pencil when you offer it back to him.

He looks back at the letters, moving his mouth around a little before speaking. Your name comes out in a small, froggy croak of a voice that makes you beam.

“That’s right!” You pat his hand excitedly and he ducks his head with a shy smile.

The front door opens and you feel a rush of relief as Wallace steps in. The relief is replaced by outrage as you see the cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Were you out on a cigarette run this whole time?!” You splutter as he steps out of his shoes and walks over to the table. Nicolas’ attention is back on his paper, copying your name out carefully.

“The pack I had was all wet,” Wallace reasons, taking a seat and reaching for the orange juice. He exhales a cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth and you feel your blood pressure rising dangerously.

“Eat your breakfast!”

You pluck the cigarette from between his lips and toss it into the sink where it lands with a hiss. He stares at you for a moment before helping himself to the food left on the table. The both of them look perfectly content while you clean off the counter, muttering angrily to yourself about kids that aren’t even yours.

 


End file.
